Like the primroses
by Annabelleloves
Summary: Katniss tells the story of how she recovered from her sisters death with a little help from Peeta, some primroses and the seasons.   Katniss/Peeta. Post Mockingjay.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own**

**Like the Primroses**

**Chapter 1**

**Introduction**

I still wake up in the night, twenty years after the final Hunger Game ended, drenched in a cold sweat. I heave air in as the deaths of Finnick, Cinna, Boggs, Leeg, Jackson, Thresh, Rue and Prim, always Prim, still rip through my head in a gruesome slideshow.

I barely make it to the toilet and retch, my limbs quivering as I try to hold myself up. Prims body as she soars into the air is fresh in my mind, a confused, terrified expression crosses her sweet face and then mercifully darkness.

I whimper and rest my forehead on the bathroom wall, exhausted; suddenly warm dry hands are reaching under my knees and back. I'm cradled against a strong chest and carried as a kiss is dropped on my cheek. Soothing words are whispered in my ear as images of iced cookies, primroses and my children replace the monstrous film playing in my mind on a constant loop.

I'm placed back in my warm bed and Peeta lies down beside me. I'm confused, why wasn't he in bed at the start? Normally he is there to rouse me before I have a nightmare. Then I remember, today would have been the day of the reaping; he must have woken early to start on the bread and cakes that would be handed out during the remembrance ceremony.

In the past the day of the reaping was to be dreaded, a day where two families would mourn the loss of their child. Now the reaping is a day to remember those that died in the war over the Capitol. Peeta and I played a major part in the war, our children often ask why our names are chanted in the streets of other districts, or spoken in thank you speeches, they ask why does Uncle Haymitch lock himself in his house every year on this day, and why does Mummy wake up crying in the night? They start to question why my face appears on the television all the time, Katniss Everdeen, Girl on Fire, Mockingjay.

Our eldest has started to realize what happened. School, stories and gossip has given her a basic outline of our hand in overthrowing the Capital, but she still craves the answers I am unwilling to give her when she is still only a child. When there is still a risk that she could be called in an imaginary reaping.

I can only imagine what it must have felt like for my mother the day Prim's name was called, the day I volunteered as tribute in her place and my life was overturned.

Our youngest asks questions, but he is just copying his sister, I watch him all the time, I marvel at his innocence, wishing I could be that carefree. I see his blue eyes light up when he watches his father expertly ice tiger lilies on cookies, and ivy on cakes.

Peeta is still as skilled as ever when it comes to painting, nowadays he draws nice scenes. He paints me, our children, Haymitch feeding his geese, the dandelions in the fields, the forest no longer surrounded by a fence.

But sometimes, after a bad day he draws me with my bow and arrow, aiming it at our children, Haymitch dead on the floor, crimson blood seeping into the dandelion field, morphing them into twisted red roses. He still suffers from his hijacking, but he knows how to handle his flashbacks and warped thoughts, he pours his feelings into his paintings.

He has never laid a finger on our children and he hasn't harmed me, but sometimes I see his hands grip the chair tightly, his knuckles turning white with the effort to keep him under control and I curse the Capitol and President Snow and Coin over and over again until it passes. Then I walk over to him and hug him until his breathing slows and his muscles relax. I know when he has regained his control because his strong arms wrap around me, his head burrowing into my neck, he inhales my scent and it always seems to do the trick. Then we break apart and we carry on with the routines that get us through life.

Reaping day always brings back unwanted memories for Peeta and I, I curl against him in bed as he gently rubs my back, and this simple motion makes me recall our time on the beach in the Quarter Quell. When he tried to persuade me to win as I had more to go back to than he did. How I had kissed him, and for the second time felt something stirring within me. Peeta is so selfless, he is always there when I need him, I try and reciprocate, but it seems like I'm always in his debt, ever since he gave me the bread and kept me alive. He's been keeping me alive since the Games. I've always wanted to do more for him but he insists that just being with him is all he needs. I realized that being with Peeta is about love, not paying a debt. Even if Prim hadn't been called the day of the reaping I knew somehow, someway, I would have ended up with him.

He saved me after my father died and he saved me after Prim died, and all he did was plant a line of primrose bushes. I remember the first year after Prim had died, and how Peeta and the primroses seemed to help me live again…

'**Ello 'ello 'ello! This is my first Hunger Games story, I read the trilogy in one sitting about a month ago and it has been circling in my mind since then. Whether it's the characters, the themes, the concept or the film coming out I can't get The Hunger Games out of my head. Anyway, this storyline came to me at work as I was thinking about how Katniss recovered after Prim's death, and how the Primroses must have had some significance! Anyway please read and review and I'll post the next chapter ASAP!**

**Thank you**

**Annabelle**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own**

**Like the Primroses**

**Chapter 2**

**Winter**

It was two months after the fall of the Capitol but, most importantly, it was two months after the death of my sister. My Prim. Just thinking of her name made my chest constrict, my breathing hitches until I was gasping for the breath that I was unable to pull into my reluctant lungs.

I stayed in my dusty room, only leaving to use the bathroom. Greasy Sae came twice a day to make sure I ate and drank, but mainly to keep me sane, I think. I often peered out my smeared window and watched District 12 go by. I saw new faces and only few old, they must have died or remained in District 13 or, like my mother, started a new life in another District.

The victors village had an excellent view of the square, if I looked hard enough, I could even see glimpses of the Seam kids running around, their dark hair streaming behind them. This only brought memories of Prims long golden locks into my mind, as fine as gossamer and as shiny as my mother's old silverware, when she was well enough to polish them, that is.

Sometimes memories of Prim would come thick and fast, they punched me and hammered into me until I was a curled up ball on the floor, voice hoarse from screaming and crying, letting out the occasional whimper. Prims delight as I revealed Lady to her, her grim expression as another wounded victim was brought into the District 13 hospital. But mostly I remembered her hands, how she would grip onto mine when we walked through the Hob, or how she would arrange the flowers that Cinna sent me when I was meant to be discovering a talent, or how those hands, small and pale, could wrap a bandage in a second, or stitch a wound without even blinking. Such a waste, such a waste…

I remember the day I started to be reborn. Greasy Sae had dropped some onion soup off but had remained for a moment, before grabbing a damp washcloth and thrusting it under my nose.

"Here, you look like you've been dragged through a hedge backwards."

When I had not responded she grasped it again and started scrubbing my arms, my face, my legs, when she saw my fingernails she grimaced and rummaged through her pockets before producing a small pair of sewing scissors. She hacked away at my long, chipped nails. After all were sheared off she started at my hair.

"This is a problem." Greasy Sae had said as she stared at my matted excuse for hair.

In the end she cut it off two, it fell to the ground in clumps, like petals falling of flowers. I was being transformed, into what I didn't know. What was I meant to be now that Prim had died? I cant go back to the old Katniss, that was the Katniss that had a sister, the Katniss that survived two Hunger games and would feel a spike of adrenaline shoot through her at the prospect of hunting.

Who was I to be when I had no sister? When the Hunger games have been abolished and I no longer wanted to hunt?

My braid, my plait, my identity, it was gone.

"There, there Katniss. Mourning is only natural." Greasy Sae said as she handed me a cloth for the tears silently streaming down my face, leaving two clear tracks in my cheeks. I didn't even realize I was crying.

Katniss Everdeen was dead; she had wilted and fallen like a flower in wintertime. She had shriveled and curled up. Turned brittle and unresponsive. Her roots had dried and retracted, her stalk and snapped. She was no one.

Then Peeta returned to District 12. When he returned he brought sunlight. Hope.

I felt something stir within me when he returned, the emotions that had plagued me before Prim's death had reignited, only now they were tinged with terror, grief and sorrow.

Hope had not made reappearance until the day Peeta knocked on my door, I trailed miserably downstairs, running a hand through my chin length hair. Praying Haymitch wasn't the one to interrupt my lonesome depression, I opened the door and revealed Peeta.

Snow fell thickly behind him, great torrents of the stuff pouring down in a great flurry. He stood there in a heavy winter coat and scarf, his blonde hair gleaming in the half-light. He gestured to his right where a line of twiggy bushes hid under my windowsills. He had planted them a few weeks ago, when he had first returned. I didn't even see him do it.

"I see the Primroses have died."

I nodded, still unable to communicate with words, for fear that screams and wails would erupt from my mouth if I opened it.

Peeta looked at me. Really looked at me, as if he knew what was going on in my very soul. Of course he does, I had though, he feels it too. I looked straight back into his steady blue eyes and felt those peculiar emotions again, the emotions that momentarily distracted me from thinking about Prim.

"Don't worry Katniss." He had said, and stepped into my house. "They'll come back."

And for a minute, I wasn't sure if he was talking about the flowers, or me.

**Thanks for those that reviewed, let me know what you think and whether I should keep going through spring, summer, autumn and a conclusion **

**Annabelle**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own**

**Like the Primroses.**

**Chapter 3**

**Spring**

With Peeta back in my life things slowly got better. I would wake each morning and go to the window and breathe huge gulps of fresh spring air. I would smell the bread from Peeta's bakery; I would breathe in the rich smell of earth from the upturned soil of the vegetables patch in my garden that Peeta had planted. But most importantly I would feel myself living again.

I would aimlessly potter around my empty house until Peeta came home at lunchtime, he would bring me freshly baked rolls, but I could tell he was trying to get me hunting again. One day he bought me a small roll, dotted with seeds.

"Do you remember eating this is the arena?" He asked casually, but I immediately stiffened. No one ever mentions the games or Prim. Not ever. Not to me anyway, but Peeta had said it so nonchalantly I felt myself relax.

"We ate it with rabbit." I replied in a voice so quiet, so unlike my own, it startled me. Peeta rewarded me with a smile and handed me the roll.

"When I was younger, my favourite time of day was the evening. Because my parents would have bought the meat you killed and cooked it up for dinner. My dad always commented on how the arrow was-"

"Straight through the eye of the animal." I finished for him, he had told me this before. It was a lovely compliment and it got me thinking, just as Peeta hoped it would. He must have known I was musing because he picked up another roll and ate it in a comfortable silence.

I knew what he was trying to do. He wanted me to start hunting again. But in doing so I would be the old Katniss. I would revert back to living a meaningless existence. I had begun to bloom again, with the help of Peeta, and if I went hunting I would go back to being a shriveled old nobody, wallowing in a pit of mourning and self-pity. I couldn't go back to that, but I had to try and get on with my life. I owed Peeta that much.

The following day I was not there for lunch with Peeta, I had grabbed my bow and arrows and clutched my fathers hunting jacket to my chest. I slowly paced outside and started the walk to the fence. My neighbors looked at me startled by my appearance and my presence. My hair had started to grow again and it just reached my shoulders, longer than it was, but not long enough for my trademark plait. My skin was paler than before, as I had not ventured outside for such a long time and, although it wasn't obvious at first, I knew the light had gone from my eyes. I looked like a different person.

I received a few nods and smiles as I cautiously made my way to the fence. As I reached it I shuddered as memories flooded over me, mostly of Gale and our daily hunting, but some of the games and President Snow and President Coin and how everyone just wanted something for themselves.

I shook of the dark thoughts and stumbled to my old meeting point. I sat there for over an hour, ripping up grass and peering around. Then I realized what I had been doing. I had been waiting for Gale. A bubble of fury and grief welled up in my chest.

I ran home, angry with myself, and Gale and the Capitol and Prim for leaving me, and Peeta for planting the idea in my head that I would go hunting again. I reached my house and flew past Peeta; I raced up to my room and waited for the sobs to come. But they didn't, I had just lain there and thought. It wasn't until midnight that I heard my door creak open and Peeta tentatively crept in that I realized my mistake. It wasn't Peeta's fault, it was time for me to stop blaming people and get on with my life. That night I slept next to Peeta and I didn't once have a nightmare.

The following morning Peeta rose to start baking and I got up too. I grabbed my boots and jacket and strode out the house. Instead of waiting for a friend that would no longer be there, I hunted. In doing so I found a piece of me that had been missing. I was finding myself again. Like the flowers in spring I was blooming. I knew that I wasn't whole; I was far from being healed. But I was coming back to life. Peeta was my sun, I needed him to survive, and without him I would revert back to a withered being with no purpose. But Peeta, Peeta made me get up and go. He made me realize that there was a point, a purpose to this. I would help other people and find myself along the way.

I was returning, but I wouldn't be the old Katniss. This time I would be new.

**Thank you to those that reviewed and I am tremendously sorry that this chapter is so late! I really hope you're enjoying it and I apologies if there is any mistakes. Thanks again for all the reviews and feel free to let me know your thought on this chapter and what I should add for my next chapter: Autumn.**

**Annabelle**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I don't own.**

**Like the Primroses.**

**Chapter 4**

**Summer**

Being the new Katniss was difficult. It didn't come without the strain, anguish and exhaustion of the nightmares of my past. I couldn't forget what had happened. But instead of letting the past demolish me, I embraced it. I learnt from my mistakes and made myself stronger.

When I walked through the village and saw flowers blooming, instead of letting the grief that came when I thought of Prim and flowers overwhelm me, I walked with a straighter back and concentrated on where I was going. What I would do next. One step at a time, just keep moving forward. Poppies, daisies, marigolds and bluebells dotted the borders of the footpaths, but not the most important flower. Not the flower that I wasn't sure I could handle.

One day as I walked to Peeta's bakery I saw a small delicate Primrose standing apart from the rest. Its five petals were pure white, but the colour blended deeper and deeper as it reached the centre into a stunning yellow. Its small green leaves swayed gently and I noticed that it had a shorter stalk than the rest of its fellow flowers. The overall effect of the flower had my heart beating fast as old memories overwhelmed me. But I made myself concentrate on the small flower in front of me.

I could relate to this flower. My hair was shorter, like the flowers tiny stalk. I admit, I had missed it and some small vain part of me detested the short shaggy crop Greasy Sae had given me and I often fretted over Peeta's opinion of it. Shallow, I know, but overall I learnt to love it and decided to keep my new shorter hair, because after all, hair isn't everything. It was my trademark throughout the games and the rebellion. But that was the old me and I knew I had to change more than my feelings on the inside, I had to become new on the outside.

I felt alone, but as I looked closer I could see a tiny Dandelion sitting underneath the Primrose. It was unusual for two such different flowers to grow next to each other. I smiled again. Of course, it was unusual for a hunter and a baker's son to fall in love. It was unusual for two nobody's to survive two Hunger Games and come out fighting. It was unusual for someone to experience such loss, such grief and still love and live. But then, not everyone was as lucky as I was to have Peeta in my life.

I gently stroked the Primrose and the Dandelion and stood from the crouch I had unknowingly bent into. I had faced it. I had survived. Keep moving forward.

As I went to the outskirts of the no longer fenced woods I looked back at District 12. What would happen to me when the flowers wilted? When the stalks crumbled and rotted and they returned to earth where they belong? When the petals wilted and discoloured and no longer retain their beauty? Would I survive my first winter without my sister? My Prim?

Yes. I would try.

Even though the old Katniss was gone. I still needed to try. Because, after all, living, loving and trying was all you could do when you experience such loss.

I looked back to the village again and caught a glimpse of Peeta walked through The Hobb to buy some supplies for the bakery. He caught sight of me as his gold hair shined in the summer sun. His eyes lit up and he raised his hand and blew me a kiss. I shook my head and smiled.

When he smiled and winked at me again, I didn't see the Boy with the Bread. I didn't see my ugly past or my pain and suffering. I saw my future.

And that was fine with me.

**I think I will leave this story. I feel as if it has reached a proper conclusion and I don't want to mar it in any way by adding epilogues and extra chapters. With this story I feel as though I went off for a bit and never really got back into the mind of my Katniss. The old Katniss, to me, is a bit feisty, very stubborn but completely ruined by her past. My Katniss seems to be defeated, and I didn't like it. But with this ending I want to leave it open ended so you can make up your mind as to whether she regains her feisty attitude, or becomes a more sober version of herself.**

**I any case, I hope you enjoyed the story. I am now on my six weeks holiday from college and I will be hoping to write more! I have a Drace/OC fanfic in the works and I will be posotng it shortly **

**Thanks again to everyone.**

**Annabelle**

**xxx**


End file.
